the tale of the evil accountantAugust 7, 2007
There once lived a sinister enchantress in the dry plains of the West, where she sought great power and to do evil deeds. She was a short woman, plump as a peach, and had smile as big as an umbrella. Often, the kindly townfolk would approach her and ask her for very vital financial information regarding payroll and expenditures. She would smile ever so big, flashing the alabaster white teeth of a feline demon and give all the numbers anyone would want. Everyone was so pleased to work with her, they would say things like, “My, my, Plump Sorceress, dear, you are so pleasant! Thank you for helping me out so much!” and they would go back to work like usual.
This was the way things went for the enchantress. She would help people out by offering them little bits of help every so often, then at night, deep in her lair, she would scheme on ways to ask favors from every single person she helped. She would stand, staring into a deep vat of hot, soupy liquid, chanting about bat wings, dog noses, and post-it notes while she conjured up the perfect plan to reach the highest ranks of Financial Kingdom in the little newspaper in the dry plains of the West. “Soon,” she would cackle to herself, “I will call in the grandest favor of them all, and move right to the top of the accountancy food chain. Ee hee hee hee hee!” Every night, she did this, for a year and a day, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
Then, when the time came near, she readied her dark portfolio and presented it to the Grand High Publisher, doing everything in her power to seem helpless. “Please, Lord Publisher! Please make me an Accountant Queen. I can amoratize and reconcile all the accounts faster and better than anyone! And everyone likes me so much! I’ll be the best Queen you ever had!” Unfortunately, the Grand High Publisher was not one to be sullied with, and not accustomed to handing out titles like candy to simple scheming sorceresses. So the sorceress went back to her lair to scheme more and more.
Three times she approached the Grand High Publisher, each time a little wiser, bearing gifts of fine silks, spices and even the Golden Ass of Greshemshire. Each time, the Publisher was impressed, saying, “My! I am truly honored that you found the Golden Ass of Greshemshire and give it to me now! My wife will love it. It will look wonderful next to the Seventy Silver Flames and the Prostrated Monk I also have in my possession.” He took the gifts with great gratitude, but he did not give the sorceress the power she so longed for. This made the sorceress quite angry.
Late at night, she concocted a new plan. “This time,” she cackled again, “I’ll take the Queendom for myself. No one will stand between me and ruling over the General Ledger. No one!”
The sorceress plotted on her calendar a date when the moon was right and the airfare the cheapest, and called in a smaller favor to the Duke of Human Resources, who permitted her to attend a conference in the far mountains to the North, where she planned to learn the deepest secrets of corporate ladder-climbing and seek the hidden tools she needed. She left in the dark of night on the wings of a steel avian beast that roared like thunder and flashes brilliant lights against the storm clouds.
When she returned, she carried with her a flight of white dragons with fiery breath, twenty mystical warriors of Credit Approval, and the Rod of Eternal Account Adjustment. With this, she stormed the newspaper, and called out the Grand High Publisher. “You pathetic weakling! You cannot resist me! The Queendom will be mine!” However, the Publisher was no slouch, and summoned the Seventy Silver Fires to protect him and destroy all the sorceress’s minions. She screamed in pain as one of the flames cut deep into her, severing the Rod of Eternal Account Adjustment in two and scorching her dark portfolio. She was defeated after all.
It has been many centuries since the Plump Sorceress with her bright smile tormented the dry plains of the West. However, rumor has it that she now is the Director of Finance at a small boys school, where every night, she pours over a small printing press, whooshing out document after document, compiling a dark portfolio again, and amassing a financial empire so deep and large, it would spill like a virus over the land. So keep your checkbooks close, and don’t let your 401(k) balances stay out after sunset, for in the dark lurks an evil woman with the power and knowledge of Black Accountancy.